


There She Is

by improbableZero



Series: Aperture Science Hetalia [6]
Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Robots & Androids, Dark, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-04
Updated: 2012-07-04
Packaged: 2017-11-09 03:31:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/450771
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/improbableZero/pseuds/improbableZero
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Li thought he could still see blood on the blade in his hands, shining black under the silver light of the moon."</p>
            </blockquote>





	There She Is

**Author's Note:**

> I'm in the process of archiving my fic over here from elsewhere on the internet. Please excuse the mess!
> 
> The title is from the Portal OST.

Li stared at the blade in his hands. It gleamed in the moonlight flooding through the window.

Li thought he could still see blood on it, shining black under the silver light of the moon. He knew it was all in his head—the last time that knife had been used had been over a year ago, and it had been thoroughly cleaned since. It was ridiculous—and yet, still, the scene floated in front of his eyes, etched into his memory banks no matter how many times he erased it.

The moonlight through the windows. The soft padding of his footfalls. Anger, hot and bitter in his throat ( _impossible_ ). The texture of the handle of the knife in his hand.

The quiet creak of Yao's door as it opened. Yao, sleeping peacefully, all unaware. The dryness of Li's mouth— _that's ridiculous, I'm not even human, it shouldn't be possible for my mouth to feel dry_ —as he swallowed.

And, finally, the thick scent of blood, heavy and coppery in the cool moonlight. The unreality of the scene— _this isn't happening, but how can it not be happening, AI can't dream_ —which was only exacerbated by the lack of response from Yao.

Li remembered that image—Yao, appearing to be only sleeping, apart from the dark spot spreading across his back, the white sheets and white moonlight stained with blood, the knife glinting silver—no matter how much he tried to erase it. Again and again he trashed it, deleted it from his memory banks—and again and again, soon thereafter, there it was, floating in his mind's eye, haunting him.


End file.
